Age of the Wilds
by PeterPokefreak
Summary: 500 years after the Age of the Five, a new immortal has joined the ranks of the seven Wilds. He now travels throughout Ithania to meet each immortal in their home and learn where his realm and specialty lie. Across the sea, a new power also readies its own warriors to attack the Ithanian continents, and the immortals need all of the help they can get, even from a Circlian mage.
1. Prologue

:Mirar.

:Auraya.

:Are the Dreamweavers well?

:They are thriving, especially since the deaths of the gods. I have seen so many already in my travels! How fare the Siyee?

:They are still grieving Huan's death, though I think Speaker Sirri and the other officials understand that it was not my fault.

:In time, they will accept their loss and move on, especially if you show them what Huan did to them in reality during the Age of the Many.

:You know I can't do that!

:Eventually, you'll realize that it's the best course of action. Show them Huan's crimes during the ancient age, and they will shun her and her memory.

_Auraya abruptly broke the dream link, not wanting to think about hurting the Siyee even more. If only the other Wilds weren't so against the gods! They were only now, five years after his death, accepting Auraya's choice to take the god Chaia as her lover so long ago._

_ Drifting in the dream trance, Auraya thought of an age in the distant future and imagined it into being within her mind. A world where she and the other immortals were respected, and the gods were forgotten. With a slight smile, she reminded herself that the Dreamweavers would never forget the Age of the Five, because their link memories would keep the age alive for all eternity, reminding them of the dangers of becoming too reliant on immortals, and especially power-hungry unscrupulous ones._

_ She then imagined what the other Wilds might be in the future. Emerahl, the immortal once known as the Hag, would, of course, be a teacher of sorcery, in the guild she had already created. Tamun, the shy and female side of the pair of Wilds previously called the Twins, would be the immortal head of The City of Artisans, her already growing empire of learned thinkers and artists. Smiling, she knew that Mirar would continue to guide the Dreamweavers as long as he was able, spreading knowledge of healing and magic throughout Northern and Southern Ithania. Surim, the "male" twin of the pair, and once conjoined with Tamun, a gregarious and active individual, would probably run most of the economy in the future, she realized, with his newfound skill at trading._

_ And what of the Gull? Auraya considered the little-known immortal who took the form of a young boy. She assumed that he was older than even the Twins, who were well into their third millennium, as he had previously stated that he had lived for a millennium before taking to the ocean, where he had lived for at least another thousand years after that, as he had been a legend before Mirar's birth. He probably wouldn't change at all, she decided, though he might gain an alliance among the Elai in the distant future, as they both wandered the oceans since the fall of the gods, and would eventually clash if they refused to join forces._

_ Smiling at her created world, Auraya let herself fall into unconsciousness, the dream she had willed into being washing over her as she slept._

* * *

_ Emerahl stepped out of her platten into the heart of the city of Glymma, a former center of the gods' power, along with the great metropolis of Jarime. Straightening nervously, the immortal brushed a hand through her vivid red hair and headed for the former temple, which had been converted into a great palace._

_ "Emerahl," the ruler of the city said kindly, taking the immortal's hand and leading her into the palace. Emerahl looked her over. Imenja, formerly Second Voice of the Gods, once subordinate to the short-lived First Voices, was dark-skinned and elegant, tall with elaborate black hair and the expression of a true ancient. As one of the oldest non-Wilds, other than perhaps Juran and Dyara, formerly of the White, Emerahl wasn't surprised by the look of age on her face._

_ "I am glad to be so warmly welcomed, ruler of the South," Emerahl said politely, inclining her head._

_ Imenja laughed loudly, throwing back her head, "No need for formality," she said firmly, "I have heard from Mirar that you can be quite intimidating when you wish. He also told me why you are visiting me here."_

_ Emerahl nodded, "Mirar believes that you may be a new sorcerer capable of becoming immortal, and the other immortals sent me here to provide a second opinion, and attempt to train you to gain immortality," she said, reviewing her orders. Imenja nodded thoughtfully._

_ "I believe Mirar referred to my continued mind-reading talent as my "innate gift"," she said, "Though I understand that the young Auraya can also read minds."_

_ Emerahl nodded again, "Auraya firmly believes that she received that ability after learning it during her time as a White, as a residual skill, in addition to her powers of flight," the red-haired, shorter woman turned to regard the ruler of Southern Ithania and regarded her frankly, "Forgive me if I say that I do not believe you to be an immortal. I think that you're situation is similar to Auraya's, in fact. I think you are a former slave of the gods, with some residual power."_

_ "Do not worry," Imenja laughed again, this time with a challenging edge, "I'm sure that I will prove both you and the ruler of the Siyee wrong."_

* * *

_Mairae looked in the mirror sadly. Her youth was finally beginning to fade, after well over 25 years as a young woman. The other former White were beginning to age as well, she told herself, and would all too soon reach old age._

_ Juran was taking the situation the hardest, the woman mused, plaiting her hair and applying facial cream assured to hide age lines. After a hundred years at a single age, she guessed, he had probably never expected to reach old age. Rian was also grieving, though Mairae believed that his sadness had more to do with the loss of the gods than the onset of age. The other fanatic former White and the youngest of them, Ellareen, commiserated with the older man, and the two of them were beginning to try and convince their fellows to claim that the gods still lived and hunt down the Wilds and any other immortals. The two loyal extremists had also resented the laws passed by the other three officials, especially the repealing of the restrictions against Dreamweavers, along with their use of Gifts, and their choice to allow the Wilds to roam free._

_ In her mind, Mairae considered the Wilds she had met so far, having nothing better to do as she styled her hair in a way she hoped would hide, or at least draw attention away from, the paling roots of the hairs. Surim, the trader immortal who often visited Jarime, was certainly handsome, she decided, for the umpteenth time, definitely more handsome than many of the princes that she had "enjoyed" over the years. She could also proudly compare him with her best lovers, having enjoyed a few secret nights in her rooms with him. She would have never guessed that he was several times older than Mirar, but Juran had assured her of the truth._

_ Tamun was nice, she remembered from her visit to The City of Artisans in central Ithania, carved in the mountain pass to Sennon. She was terrified around the other White, however, and had insisted on speaking only with Mairae, whom she said was easiest to read as trustworthy. It was certainly disconcerting to meet someone so experienced in emotion reading so as to be able to sense a person's trustworthiness at a glance._

_ Emerahl, one of the younger Wilds, was similar to Mairae in many ways, the blond woman realized, as she checked the mirror to assure herself that her age did not show. Beautiful, powerful, lusty, there had been an instant rapport between the former White and the ruler of the Sorcerer's Guild in Somrey. During Mairae's weeks at the Guild, negotiating peace with the cantankerous Wild, they had compared lovers several times, with the older immortal always coming out on top with her trump card, Mirar._

_ The Gull was the one Wild Mairae had yet to meet. Juran and Mairae both held against the other rulers of Hania that a person of the sea, one who protected moral sailors, was no threat to the peoples of the continents, while Rian, Ellareen and Dyara, the second former White, continued to stubbornly insist that ignoring the ancient could only result in disaster across the world when the child decided that he wanted more territory. Mairae snorted as she dressed in her new, colourful government uniform. Why would a ruler of the oceans need more living space? His realm covered most of the world, a space that even an immortal Wild could never make use of._

_ Then there were the two younger Wilds. Well, one Wild and one possible immortal. Auraya had assured them that she was no threat, and still stayed in Si, caring for the Siyee and helping them through their grieving for the goddess Huan, their creator. For once, all of the rulers were in agreement about her. Until she showed signs of becoming a threat, they would allow her to live her life in peace, but there was also the Second Voice of the Gods, Imenja, to worry about._

_ Throughout negotiations with Southern Ithania, Imenja had been helpful and reasonable, suggesting that her superiors had been giving her strict orders to remain in line during their brief reigns. Her quick execution of First Voice Nekaun, her elected superior, was enough proof of that, Mairae supposed, though she realized that the revenge was justified, as the power-mad Voice had raped three Servants of the Gods, including Imenja's own Companion and best friend, Reivan._

And now this strict ruler may be a Wild,_ Mairae mused, _She must know what Rian and Ellareen may decide if she does make herself immortal. They will destroy her, completely and utterly. Reivan too._ The former immortal was surprised to feel sympathy for the empress. _She can either live out her natural life and leave her kingdom to a young person, who may destroy all her work, _she thought, _Or she can choose to join the ranks of the immortals and risk being obliterated by Northern Ithania, which will risk anything to destroy such a powerful immortal. _She winced as she considered the possible consequences. _Not that we would win such a war, especially if the Wilds and their many followers sided with Southern Ithania._ It would be better for all involved if Imenja did not become immortal, Mairae decided, or if the Avvenan kept her change quiet until the former White were all dead of old age. As her thoughts turned to her impending mortality, Mairae pushed those depressing ideas to the side, concentrating on a stubbornly sagging section of cloth. _Oh please, not a sagging bust already!_ she prayed in vain._


	2. Council

"Welcome to The City of Artisans, Circlian Representative," the gatekeeper said respectfully, though without using the usual symbols of reverence, as I showed him my invitation to the Council.

I looked around the city beyond the gates, and was unsurprised to see great, advanced technologies in use all around me.

Large rockbreaker machines were using magic to expand the city walls as I watched, slowly chipping away at the Si Range Pass and widening the already sprawling town. Small motorized vehicles moved without the benefit of reyers down the streets and roads of the city, belying the establishment's humble appearance from the other side of the walls

The City of Artisans, home of the Council and one of the great Ithanian Seats of Power. As the permanent home of an immortal, the City was always destined to command great respect all throughout Ithania, and its central location in the continents made it a convenient meeting place for such diverse officials as the representatives of the elite Council, even if the so-called democracy was for show.

My platten moved swiftly through the wide streets, though it was hardly the fastest vehicle in such an advanced city. I quickly arrived at the centre of the city, despite the massive traffic on the road from the North Gate, and was efficiently ushered into the dim hallways of the Seat of the Council, a grand marble building built specifically to house the Council and as a gaudy monument to the immortals. My room was set out in the northern wing of the palatial facility, apparently as far as possible from some of the other religious representatives, such as the traditionalist Pentadrians and any foolish members of the Maker's cult.

As the servant left me to my own devices in my room, I crossed the sparse, serviceable chamber to the wide bed, where a note had been laid with my name on it. I picked it up and, finding the seal of the Council upon it, quickly broke the wax and opened the parchment. It was a letter from the Council Immortal who managed Jarime, a youthful sorcerer who called himself The Seafarer, because of his apparent "affinity" to the ocean.

_Dear Corin,_

_ Welcome to The City of Artisans. I trust that you have found your time here so far satisfactory, and hope that you have not had any trouble with any other representatives already._

I couldn't help grinning. The note was written in the same voice as The Seafarer's correspondences with the Circle of Priests in Jarime. It had the same humourous twist on the most mundane topics as the supposedly official letters I always read when they were placed in the Sanctum Library for posterity. The note continued with instructions.

_After some of the previous Council meetings, you should be aware that it was decided to separate any religious representatives, like you and some of the others, at most Council functions. The closest you will be to them will be in the Council Chamber, and the other immortals and I will be watching you then. Remember: no magical brawls!_

_ Please prepare for supper by sunset, where you will meet some of the other representatives of areas I manage. Reps from most of the coastal cities in Northern Ithania will be there, so please don't start any of the belief system arguments I've heard that you are so famous for._

_ The Seafarer_

As usual, the letter gave no clue as to what The Seafarer's actual name was, but that usual curiosity was eclipsed by surprise that such an ancient being would care to find out about one of the very temporary representative for a religion I knew none of the immortals liked.

As I unpacked, I let myself dare hope that I might finally meet, really meet and get to know, one of the immortals during the Council. I had heard back in Jarime that they were often to be found hurrying through the palace in the weeks preceding the annual Council meeting, and the Council opened in one day's time, so all seven would have to be in the city by this time. I had always been curious about what it was like to live forever, and I was dying to ask the question of one of the seven while I was in their centre of power. Of course, there were a choice few I could never talk to after what they had done to the Gods.

As usual for a Circlian priest or priestess, preparations for dinner were fairly simple. I used easy Skill Arts to clean myself, then put on my simple circ and brushed my hair back, wishing as usual for the smooth, sleek hair that so many of the darker-haired male priests shared. My unruly blond curls flew everywhere as I brushed them until I finally lost my patience and used my Change Arts, somewhat sloppily in my frustration, to flatten them into submission.

Finally prepared, and just in time, as the sun began to dip into a mountain peak, I rushed to the dining hall for the North Wing, where the representatives from coastal Northern Ithania and Borra would eat. I arrived just before the other few representatives hurried into the cozy room on the lower floor of the palace. There was a small pool of water in one corner, and several types of seafood were laid out, along with more normal fare, such as fresh greens and bread.

While most of the other people in the room were humans, there was, of course, the Elai representative from Borra. The tall, dark-skinned water-dweller hurried to the pool of water and lowered himself in, sighing as the water lapped around his neck. As The Seafarer was the Council Immortal in control of island archipelagos other than the Sorcerer Lands, and coastal cities north of the Si Range, my fellow humans in the room were from the great cities of the north. High-ranking officials from Toren and Genria nodded to each other before beginning to partake of our repast. Feeling like a complete idiot, I looked around for any sign of The Seafarer, hoping that he might want to see the people he guarded, perhaps come and meet us.

The aristocrat from Porin must have seen me staring around nervously, because he smiled, "Don't worry, Circlian," the older man said, apparently for lack of a better descriptor, "you'll only have to see The Seafarer himself for a few hours tomorrow."

The Genrian representative, a stately older woman, probably from Aime, sniffed, "I heard from my predecessor," she began, in a tone of superiority, and I saw the Porin sigh, "that the immortals hold their own Council on the night before the true Council, and they use their privacy to catch up with each other. Especially," she wagged her fine eyebrows expressively, "The Bird and The Healer."

I considered this information as the three other representatives began to chat as old friends, obviously having spent several years attending the Council. From what I had learned, most of the rumours about the relationship between The Bird and The Healer were true, or had been in the past. I turned my mind swiftly away from the thoughts that entered my head of how they might "catch up" with each other after a year apart. Then again, the idea of all seven immortals getting together before The Council, deciding which stance to take on each decision together, to overrule the mortal representatives, was nearly as repugnant as the idea of the ancients bedding each other, or anyone, for that matter.

I ate quickly and quietly, then hurried back to my room before anyone else, irritated by the idea that The Seafarer was not only ignoring us, but that he was closeted with his fellows, all of them probably plotting how to keep Ithania under control for another year. After recording the day's rather dull events and the small tidbits of gossip I had caught in my journal, I undressed and went to sleep, almost forgetting to end my Change Art and let my hair go back to normal, springing up in a massive frizz. As usual, Change Arts were temporary only, and backlashed on the user after they were ended, leaving me, in this case, with a massive knot of hair to sleep on.

* * *

The next morning I woke quite late after the long journey of the previous days to find a breakfast tray set out for me with another note from The Seafarer. As I hurried to finish my breakfast before The Council convened at noon, I unsealed the note and read The Seafarer's neat writing.

_Corin,_

_ Please meet with the other representatives in the Great Hall a quarter hour before noon. Not that I expect everyone to be ready by then, but it is a neat place to look at for those who arrive on time and just enough of an early call to get latecomers down before we begin._

_ Remember, NO DEBATES! I don't feel like breaking up another long discussion of whose gods were better._

_ The Seafarer_

I looked over the short note again, seeing how hurried the language was. Of course, the memo had probably been written only hours before, as The Seafarer and the other immortals scurried to prepare for the Council. However, I couldn't help but be suspicious that The Seafarer was trying to avoid telling the representatives something. Again, I pushed the thought aside, telling myself that my strictly Circlian upbringing was at the root of my suspicion.

Like always, I found myself arriving some minutes before the quarter hour arrival time in the Great Hall. I had had to brush my hair for several minutes to get the knots out, before attempting to comb it back in some civilized fashion, which took an entire quarter hour despite my most hurried intentions. Like I always did, I promised myself I would not use any Change Arts on my hair again, to avoid the resulting backlash, but the oath was without meaning, since I had made it a hundred times before.

As the other representatives arrived, I noticed that they tended to gravitate away from me, in my circ, as if they were wary of Circlians. They mostly congregated with the others under the same immortal, though some of the city officials from all across Ithania joined together to chat about management of population and the like. The Siyee representatives, short winged beings, attached themselves to the single Elai, and the entire group of nonhumans detached itself from the rest of us.

I spent the following 15 minutes awkwardly moving from group to group, trying to start a conversation but failing because, apparently, the previous Circlian representatives had not made a good impression on the other peoples of Ithania, leaving the task of winning them over to me. Finally, after standing awkwardly to one side for what felt like forever, the great doors to the Council Chamber began to open ponderously. The hallway beyond was only dimly lit by faint oil lamps, obviously for a dramatic effect. As one, all of the representatives except myself headed off for the doors in a rather rushed fashion, somehow managing to form a bottleneck with only about a score of people and the massive, half-open entryway. After they had all crammed themselves in, I followed more slowly, feeling distinctly superior to the small group of people desperate to catch a glimpse of the beings who had almost become deities.

Only moments after smiling smugly at the retreating backs of my fellow representatives as they raced into the Council Chamber, I found myself staring about in awe as I came into the actual chamber itself. A 500-foot wide heptagon inhabited the great dome of the Seat of the Council, forming a connector for the entire sprawling Seat. Each side of the asymmetrical structure apparently represented the domain of a single immortal, since each side split the great dome above, and each seventh of the dome featured an immense stained glass window in a design of one immortal each, with a background of each one's domain. A tall, shallow alcove set into the wall just above floor height on each side was apparently where the immortal sat, and a row of seats was set into the brightly tiled floor in front of each hollow. Within each alcove, there was a different make of chair, apparently the preferred seating of each immortal. Each representative gravitated to their immortal's wall, and I followed the Toren, Genrian, and Elai representatives as we went to sit under the window with a fair young man on it, smiling impishly down on us. I noticed quickly that we were seated quite far from the doors, implying that The Seafarer had little association with whichever immortals took that area, who were most likely the Lady of the City and her brother. The Siyee took the seats on our left side, under a mural of a tall, thin young woman in white, while a group of dark-skinned humans sat on our right, obviously from Southern Ithania and seated under a darker window, with an equally dark woman standing in it.

Once everyone had settled into their seats, we sat in silence, rather stiffly in the straight-backed wooden chairs, until a young boy walked in from another entrance and announced that the Immortals of Ithania would now be joining us. I snorted slightly under my breath at their caring and protective name. As if they really cared about the people of the continent and their souls more than their own extended life!

I almost fell off my seat at the sheer magical power that preceded the immortals through the door. Apparently first impressions _were_ everything to these people, I thought wryly as the first of them, traditionally the ruler of The City of Artisans, took carefully measured steps through the understated and small door.

The Artist, as she let herself be known, was as fair as the stained glass window on my right was dark. Her pale milky skin spoke of long years inside her home, probably designing some new invention or art piece, and reviewing those of her citizens. Her pale white-blonde hair was like nothing I had ever seen in Jarime, a city where members of every race, and several in between, lived. She was obviously some millennia old, I realized, to have had her entire race wiped out. Her facial features, fine and somewhat angular, however, were instantly recognizable as Somreyan, or what had been Somreyan until the Sorceror's Guild had taken over the islands, I amended. Apparently she was some relic of an ancient Somreyan civilization. The core of the power pushing into the chamber was behind her, however, so she apparently wasn't careless enough to so instantly warp the magic around her.

The Artist hurried once she was in the Council Chamber and beyond the door, almost breaking into a run as she reached the steps to her alcove, which was on the opposite side of the room, high on the wall, above the entry corridor. She seemed to be scared of the representatives, I noticed, probably recognizing some of the races of the persecutors of her kind among the crowd. Brushing the tidbit into my memory, I turned my attention back to the doors with the other representatives. After a dramatic pause, the next immortal came to join us.

The Artist's twin, The Trader, had similar features to his sister, down to the scars running down one side of his neck. Suddenly curious, I looked over at The Artist and, sure enough, her scars ran down the other side of her body. So the rumours were true, I told myself, they had once been conjoined. They were certainly twins, with almost the same features, only gender providing a few obvious differences in build. The Trader's close-cropped hair and tanned or burned skin, unlike his sister, were obviously features of an avid traveller, one who had visited the south several times. Fitting, since The Trader travelled to every major city in Ithania during an average year. Magically, he carried a good portion of the magical excess I had felt before their entrance, revealing how different he was from his reserved sister.

He walked with an easy, confident gait, waving cheerfully at some of the older representatives. He then took up his seat to the right of his twin, grinning down at the assembled peoples to match his stained glass window. To my eyes, the smile was nearly predatory, especially when it reached the far ends of the hall, where I was sitting. He seemed to be bursting with energy, unlike his reticent and shy sister.

The third of the immortals through the door wore a simple Dreamweaver tunic and vest, contrasting The Artist's fine, heavily embroidered dress and The Trader's rich golden ensemble. The Healer, the founder of the Dreamweaver cult, was the only immortal whose name was widely known to mortals. Since becoming immortal, he had kept his own name, Mirar, and had only bowed to being called The Healer because the other immortals had all adopted dramatic titles. His strong features and tanned face had a somewhat Sennonian look about them, but his race was mostly ambiguous, which made sense, since he was over 1500 years old. His magical weight was unobtrusive compared with the power of The Trader, making me feel a bit confident that he was weaker than the other immortals.

Mirar walked slowly and calmly to take his place to The Trader's right, during which time I glared openly at him. As a key player in the Great Lie, he was an enemy to the culture of the Circle, and I would absolutely treat him as such. He made no move to acknowledge my hatred, only nodded to the representatives under his command, a very small delegation of Dreamweavers and a few representatives from the cities on the Plains of Gold. He then sat down with measured grace in his alcove, under the much more lively window featuring his visage, where his youthful features sported a playful smile under his long white hair. He turned eagerly to the door after he sat down, and I knew who would follow him.

The Bird literally glided through the entryway, showing off her "innate talent" of flight and making a speedy counter clockwise circle of the Council Chamber, then braking within seconds and setting herself down on the woven seat which was set out in her section. The Healer smiled, because her area was directly on the left of the door. Her dark hair was caught up in the elaborate style once reserved for the Circlian White, and I felt resentment bubble inside of me. By stealing the God's power, The Bird had gained eternal life for herself and permanently crippled the Gods, leaving the White to age and die. According to the anecdotes of the War of the Wilds in the Sanctum Library, Auraya had quit her job as a representative of the Gods, abandoning her fellows, and sided with the Wilds, as they were then called, to drain the Gods she had served of their power, forcing them out of the world. She was the greatest enemy. With her youthful face and slight build, however, she looked unlike a murderer of any kind, and most of the other representatives were smiling up at her as she self-consciously straightened her pale gray satin gown.

I was certain my excitement was palpable to the immortals as one of their oldest comrades, and one of the least known, entered the chamber once Auraya was settled. The Seafarer walked calmly in, unassuming after The Bird's dramatic entrance, and I was amazed by his normal appearance. The others were all wearing a sort of clothing that I had only rarely, or never, seen at home, but The Seafarer's clothing was comfortingly familiar. He was wearing a soft blue tunic and brown trousers, looking like a rich youth from one of the prestigious families of Jarime, though his strikingly bright green eyes belied his tanned face and brown hair. Really, his eyes were his most striking feature, standing out in his face, unusually bright, showing the mischievous light of a young child. He grinned at the representatives under him, then hopped up onto his dais and sat under the mural of himself, to the right of his entrance door, which hardly did his simple grandeur justice. Magic wavered around him, almost matching The Trader's influence, and he obviously enjoyed showing off and affecting with the power in the air.

With only the two other less-known female immortals remaining to make their grand entrance, I felt my interest waning, but forced myself to watch as the former leader of the Circlians' greatest enemy besides Auraya entered the chamber.

The Empress, the great queen who had long ago united Southern Ithania under her banner, stepped into the room in heavy, deep-blue robes, her dark face and hair accented by the deep, rich colour. She smiled slightly as the three representatives of Southern Ithania, probably her lackeys back in Glymma, stood and bowed subserviently. She then made her graceful way across the room and sat, the fabric of her robes rustling as she settled. She seemed to completely know how to keep her people under control, as they refused to sit until she had sat in her hardwood throne, and she also exuded ripples of power into the air, leaving me breathless in the crossfire of magical waves, between the three powerful or playful immortals.

Expecting to see another chaste-looking, understated woman enter after seeing The Empress and her fellow women enter the Chamber, I completely underestimated the leader of the Sorcerer's Guild as she danced in, looking radiant. Later, I realized that, just before she entered, several of the men had leaned forward expectantly, but I had been trying to catch my breath between the erratic prods of pure magic moving violently around the chamber. Mirar put his head in his hands and several of the immortals gasped or laughed as The Sorceress skipped in, dressed in a _very_ short skirt and a skimpy tunic with a provocatively low neckline. I thought I heard The Trader whistle in the commotion of her dramatic entrance. Most of the men in the room couldn't take their eyes off of the woman and her shockingly red hair as she whirled in the centre of the room, but I found myself turning to hide my blush, only to look right into The Seafarer's ironic stare. He smiled at my obvious discomfort, then stood obligingly.

"Sorceress," The Seafarer called in a quiet voice that silenced the chamber, though The Trader whistled once more, unashamedly, "you've had your show once again, my friend, but I think you are making some of the representatives uncomfortable." He smiled specifically at me, and my mouth went dry with nervousness under his gaze.

"Fine," The Sorceress called back belligerently, much louder than her colleague, "Cover for me while I change, then."

The Bird rolled her eyes as The Sorceress climbed into her hollow and picked up a bundle on her throne. With a wave of her hand, The Bird sent a buzz of magic across the room, easily drawing the curtains closed over The Sorceress without even the least bit of effort.


	3. Mistake

"Keep going without me," The Sorceress called after a beat, her comic timing perfect. "I can hear through this curtain, you know." Some of the representatives from the Sorcerer Lands smiled at their leader's impropriety.

"Very well," The Artist said quietly, her voice small and thin in the great hall, "What issues do you have to bring to our attention, representatives?" she called to us.

_So they do acknowledge the mortals_, I thought. At least they had some semblance of a council in this place, rather than having the oh-so-aged immortals lord over everyone else openly.

Before I could speak, the Porin I had eaten with the last evening interrupted me. "I believe that both me and the Lady Grinya have an issue," he called to the room at large.

"Speak, then," The Bird told him from her humble seat, "What would the Northern Lands ask us for help with?" From the way that everyone was leaning over curiously to hear the Porin representative and Lady Grinya, I guessed that it was a rare occurrence for the citizens of the Circlian nations to speak up with the immortals so present.

The prim Lady Grinya, dressed in a severe silver gown, stood and moved to the centre of the great chamber, where a magical circle had been set up as an amplifier. "In the coastal lands of the north," she called, her voice far beyond its normal volume, "There has been a recent rash of unseasonal storms. These great hurricanes have ravaged our crops, and many of the great cities of our nations have fallen to being despoiled homes for our homeless countrymen."

I watched the reactions of the Immortals as the Genrian lady spoke. Mirar looked up abruptly as she discussed the unseasonal situation, and I saw The Artist give a slight shake her head. Something was going on. The Immortals were said to have a grove of Welcome Trees on the Sorcerer Lands, so they were most likely discussing what to do silently using the magical wood to transmit their thoughts.

When Lady Grinya finished outlining the troubles of the north, she curtsied to The Seafarer and returned to her seat, sitting demurely under the gaze of the seven immortal rulers.

The Seafarer spoke, "These situations are unusual, but not unheard of," he told us. "Though there is no power strong enough to control the elements, I will make rounds of the cities of the north this year to set up new barriers for your needs."

This sentence would have been completely innocuous, just a way of promising to do all he could, but I saw The Empress heave a sigh from her seat as The Seafarer spoke. So there _was _a power great enough to control the weather, and the immortals were displeased about it. Had the gods finally returned?

The representatives continued to voice their concerns, and the immortals continued to sympathize and promise all that they could do. I saved my speech for last, so no one would have a reason to interrupt me. Over the period of an hour, the Elai told us of the sudden leap in the populations of predatory sea creatures, one of the Sorcerers warned his mistress, who reappeared quickly wearing more suitable clothing, that the amounts of magic on the Sorcerer Lands were dropping swiftly, and one of the representatives from within the City of Artisans voiced the citizens' concern that the expansion of the city was affecting the surrounding mountain environment. I was about ready to leave without speaking when The Artist once more called for representatives to speak and, at last, nobody spoke up.

"I would like to speak," I called as the silence stretched.

Every eye in the chamber turned instantly to me and raked up and down my body, probably taking in my circ and young age. "A Circlian priest wishes to speak in front of us," The Sorceress stated drily, "times must be rather dire in Jarime."

The Bird shot The Sorceress a glare, "The Circlians have as much right to speak in this council as every other person," she told the other woman, "We should welcome his participation, not condemn it."

"Very well," The Healer sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Speak, Circlian."

I strode to the centre of the room and turned to look back at The Seafarer. He looked intrigued, and I guessed that the northern coast rarely participated so much at The Council. I looked around at every person in the chamber before continuing.

"The Immortals have ruled us for five hundred years," I began. Even to my ears, I sounded weak and nervous: immature. I saw some of the older representatives sigh and begin to turn away. They probably heard this speech from most new Circlian representatives, if not directly in front of the immortals, as I was doing. To fight their disinterest, I changed my voice, pitching it to sound confident and mature.

"For five centuries," I continued, much more pleased with how my voice sounded, "we have let the people who drove the gods out of the world rule us, running Ithania and all of its peoples.

"We have lost our independence from each other and allowed ourselves to be subjugated by those who have cursed our faiths for thousands of years," I continued, enjoying the magical amplifier and using it to throw my voice and fill the room with sound. I was heartened to see several of the representatives nodding slowly.

"Yes, many advancements have been made in that time," I said, nodding to The Artist and The Sorceress, who looked confused, "but our system of governance has become stale, and a new system should be tested and used so that we may rule ourselves, rather than being ruled by those who may not wish for our independence.

"I say," I called, readying myself to be burned to a crisp as soon as I spoke, "I say that we abandon those who say they are our elders and turn instead to those who can say that they have experienced our lives in this time, and our mortality."

I closed my eyes and waited for the blast of lightning that would end my life, but it never came.

"It is an intriguing idea," I heard The Seafarer say, and my eyes snapped open. Many of the representatives were nodding now, like they agreed with me, and even some of the Immortals were considering the idea.

"What are you saying?" The Sorceress asked, aghast, "We have worked to keep Ithania's peace for centuries!"

"We cannot say that we have not ruled unfairly at times," The Artist countered The Sorceress, "I say that we let the nations test this system, however temporarily."

"No!" Auraya cried, surging to her feet, "With the situation as it is, we must remain united! Circlian, what did you do?" What situation?

"Bird, he has done _something_," Mirar gasped, "Even I can see the magic he has affected."

"I see it as well," The Trader said from his seat, "Something has been done using powerful vocal magic within the last few minutes."

The Empress looked confused. "I can almost see the magic, but it could not change the situation. We have ruled too long." The Immortals were beginning to dissolve into pointless squabbling.

So The Seafarer, The Empress, and The Artist were agreeing with me, while The Bird, The Healer, The Trader, and The Sorceress opposed me. But I did not understand about the warped magic. What could have happened? I searched for a moment, reaching out to see magic, then gasped myself. Magical ripples spread out from me in all directions, bouncing off the walls in a pattern similar to sound waves. The four who opposed my plan had minor shields around them, or their own magical power nullified the ripples. And none of the mortal representatives had the magical power necessary to turn back mine or even slow it down.

I had unknowingly brainwashed the entire room.

I had expected the power I had had to melt away from disuse, but that approach was apparently not going to work. Instead, my power had developed itself. I remembered days back in Jarime, when I'd used my skill to get whatever I wanted. The people I'd spelled wouldn't be quite the same, though. People can get out of control when they will do your wishes and side with you without question. They don't quite see reason. How had my power gone out of control?

Changing my voice! When I had altered my pitch and tone, magic had also entered my speech. I needed to break the casting before the immortals entered a war. And I knew they would if I let them. A war between the greatest members of Ithanian society would devastate the lands of Ithania.

"Healer!" I called loudly, and his head snapped around from where he had now entered an argument with The Artist. They would get worse and less reasonable if they weren't freed soon, and I didn't have the power necessary to do that for all of them.

"Blast the room with enough magic to cancel the ripples and the curse should end," I told him. The magic would also run through their minds and remove any magical contamination; though I wasn't totally sure how my skill affected those I spelled.

He nodded and started sucking magic toward him.

"Mirar, no!" The Bird called just before he sent the magic roaring across the room. I guessed that she was worried that I would cause all of them to side with me. I had, after all, accidentally turned half of the immortals into my mindless followers.

As the powerful wave of pure magic hit me, I let it cleanse me of much of my magic as well, adding more power to the spell. As the magic left me and my brain began to fall unconscious from the sheer force of the magical wave, I thanked all the gods that Mirar was so trusting.

* * *

I woke up in my room, much later in the day. The sun was setting over the mountains as I changed out of my circ, since I wasn't expecting any visitors. I worried that I might actually be imprisoned, after what had happened at the Council, but I would have at least the rest of the day to myself. Once I was wearing only my undershirt and thin trousers, I settled into my desk with my journal and started to write down the occurrences of the highly eventful day.

I was interrupted when I had just barely started by a knock at the door. I jumped, but turned to the door.

"Come in," I called. Was the justice system this efficient? Surely not.

I was highly surprised when the door was opened by none other than The Seafarer himself. He stopped for a moment and blinked at me, in my much less formal clothes, but he came in swiftly and closed the door behind him, his green eyes flashing around the room.

"I expected you to still be unconscious," he told me, "The Healer has a tendency to blast people into comas when he's panicking."

"I'm pretty resilient," I told him simply, "Are you and the others feeling okay?"

"You mean the three of us you spelled?" he asked, then he chuckled, "We're all fine, but some of the representatives have terrible headaches."

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, "I didn't know I was using magic."

"Don't be sorry," he told me, and he moved to sit on my bed, "We wouldn't have found you if you'd stayed quiet."

I quickly relinquished my chair to him and moved to my bed, feeling self-conscious in my too-small shirt, which I only kept because it had been my first clothing as a Circlian priest.

"What do you mean, you 'found me'?" I asked once The Seafarer sat down.

"I mean that your power would have gone wasted at this critical time, and our enemies probably would have gotten to you." The Seafarer sighed. It seemed like such a strange noise for him to make.

"I don't understand," I said meekly. It was obvious that The Seafarer was nervous, and he wasn't explaining properly.

"Well," The Seafarer said nervously, "this is going to be a bit of a shock, but-"

"I'm powerful enough to become an Immortal," I said stonily. I had known since discovering that no other Circlians could use my persuasion power, but I had never expected to actually get a chance to act on the knowledge.

"Yes, and," The Seafarer seemed to be struggling to explain, "we need your help right now. The storms that Lady Grinya discussed – weren't natural storms. The Artist can explain better than I."

"You want me to join you," I stated. Not something I would want to do, but if things were bad enough to put the eldest immortal on edge, they might need every magical power they could find.

"Not necessarily," The Seafarer explained. "We need your help, that's all. If you can help us, we won't ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

"How do you need help?" I asked warily.

"Go talk to The Artist in the Great Hall tomorrow," The Seafarer told me, getting up, "She can explain better than me, and she'll make arrangements for you."

"And if I can't help you?" I asked, more rhetorically than anything else, fearing the answer I had already guessed.

"If you can't help," The Seafarer said from the doorway, "We may already have lost." And then he was gone.

* * *

More than a little confused, and incredibly scared, I spent the night tossing in my bed, unable to sleep. What could the Immortals, the rulers of the known world, want from a junior Circlian priest? Did they need someone brainwashed? The Sorceress could do that, surely.

When dawn finally came, I gave in to sleeplessness and used one of the simplest Mind Arts to keep me awake. The temporary alertness would come with a cost later, since human bodies weren't designed to remain awake for long periods of time. I would probably collapse in the afternoon. Small price to pay for a little clear-headedness.

My preparations were simple, as usual, except for my flyaway hair. Keeping away from Change Arts, I spent a long, frustrating time combing away before I had some semblance of control over my appearance.

Many of the people who had been in The Council had already left the Seat, so my journey to the Great Hall was eerily quiet, since none of the servants who had been bustling around even the day before were still working. The Great Hall was terribly quiet, and the taps of my shoes on the immense marble tiles echoed multiple times before dissipating. The Artist was waiting in the centre of the hall, dressed in what looked like a fine silk shift.

She turned to me as I approached. Her gown swirled around her, patterns appearing and disappearing in the light. "Hello, Corin," she said quietly. She frowned, "Did you sleep at all?"

I blinked at her. Usually the signs of suppressed exhaustion were hardly noticeable, but I suppose that an ancient sage could easily tell.

"You didn't," she said, answering her own question with an astonishing certainty. "Very well," she continued primly, "I will try to be brief."

She gestured to one of the many seats in the hall, and we moved to sit down.

"Last year, you may have noticed that there was very little contact from The Seafarer to the people of Jarime," The Artist began, and I nodded mutely. "The reason for this is that both The Seafarer and The Bird had a job to do.

"The Seafarer recently told us of a land other than the Ithanian ones, located on the other side of the planet," The Artist explained, and she opened her hand, palm up. A magical image appeared above it, an illusion showing the planet and the Ithanian continent. The planet's other side was covered in grey film, like every other planetary globe.

"According to The Seafarer," the immortal continued, flipping her white-blond hair out of her eyes, "There was commerce between the two continents in his youth, unknown thousands of years ago." I was surprised. No knowledge of such a place was left, if such writings had ever existed. I had researched through obscure volumes for long months, trying to find some reference to a continent beyond Ithania. Nothing had shown up then.

"Over the last year, both The Bird and The Seafarer made separate visits to the other continent, and we now have a rough map of the land." The grey cloud cleared, revealing a large, roughly circular continent with few geological features across it. It looked completely unremarkable, yet it was something that could change our whole understanding of the world.

"There was a slight problem with the journeys," The Artist said flatly. I looked up, confused. "The Bird was attacked by the natives of this land, and The Seafarer's ship was nearly destroyed." The woman stated all of this so flatly, without any emotion, that I had to wonder how many people she had seen die. Even how many she had killed herself.

"One thing was constant in both of their reports," The Artist continued, "The news that an army was massing on the coasts nearest to Ithania."

I felt like I had been physically hit in my stomach. The last war in Ithania had been the devastating conflict between the Circlians and the Pentadrians, in a massive bid for power over the entire continent. A war from another continent could be even more disastrous.

"A-are you sure?" I asked weakly.

"My brother and I looked into their minds after our friends arrived home," The Artist said gently, "There could be no mistaking their wish for new land. And Ithania is the only other land."

"Why do you need me?" I asked, scared for the answer.

"My brother and I have hypothesized your power and future path," The Artist told me. "We believe that your power is people. With practice, you will know their minds on sight, be able to convince them of your righteousness without magic, and you can already use a basic, but powerful, persuasion technique." She smiled slightly and touched her temple, "I still have a headache, by the way."

Before I could respond, she continued. "We realized while we were working with your personality that you could be easily swayed by a sufficiently convincing member of the enemy. We will not allow that."

"You were-!" I started, but The Artist held up a small thin hand to stop me.

"If we lose you to the foe, we may lose Ithania before the war even begins," she continued, looking at me, "Your power alone may be the greatest known to us. Together with a group of immortals, you would be a near unstoppable force. If the others know of you, they will want your assistance. You could lead an army with your voice alone, and turn a country to your will on a whim."

"And I'm a Circlian," I realized, voicing my idea, "If a Circlian joins the Immortals, you will have Northern Ithania in your power. If I joined the other continent, they would follow without hesitation."

"Precisely," The Artist smiled; then continued, "The massing armies that we could see were immense, but they must still cross a great sea. There is much distance between our lands and theirs, even at the narrowest point. Against the creatures under The Seafarer and the violence of the storms that they have created themselves to sow dissent among those we cannot help, which will stir up the sea currents, they will progress slowly, and we have much time to prepare.

"But not enough," she continued, "To speed your learning, and to show the lands of Ithania that you support the Immortal cause, I have arranged for you to meet each of we seven separately, within our own domains, and watch as we gather our forces."

I was pleasantly amazed. I had always wished to travel the known lands from the stuffy confines of Jarime, and now I could travel and learn at the same time. It was a chance I had waited for all my life.

"As I will not be very interesting to be around." I realized The Artist was talking, and was swept out of my reverie. "I have arranged for you to travel with my brother as he leaves today for Porin, and from there you will meet The Seafarer," she told me. Apparently I did not have any choice in this matter anymore.

She smiled at me, seeming to read my thoughts, "You have every choice, young Corin," she told me, "But my knowledge of human minds tells me that you will choose to travel." She was completely right.


	4. Training

Giving me no time to rest, The Artist summoned The Trader with almost precognitive speed. Which, of course, it had been. They stood beside each other in a way that suggested they were comfortable that way. Despite only seeing each other once a year for five centuries, they seemed to speak as one.

"My role during our preparations is to design emblems and armour that will make the generals the most intimidating of the entire army." The Artist was using 'our' and 'we' now. The thought that the immortals were counting me as one of them so immediately terrified me beyond belief.

"When it actually comes down to the battle, the two of us will be planning the army's movements and strategies from the sidelines." Her brother took over. "For now, my purpose is to call in favours from the most powerful people among the cities of Ithania and hire every soldier I can.

"And also transporting you." He had a glint in his eyes that suggested to me that he might actually just throw me in a tarn and leave me there until we arrived at – whatever our destination was.

"We have arranged your journey in a way that should take you on a trip around Ithania to the other immortals in their realms all around the continent." The Artist spoke as if the two Immortals had rehearsed their speech. "From here, in the centre of the continent, you will travel with The Trader to the port of Nor, where The Seafarer will pick you up."

"From there you're headed to the Sorcerer Lands and The Sorceress. After that you'll be travelling around Northern Ithania to The Empress in Avven." The Trader seemed to look upon this leg of the journey with some sympathy to me, and I knew why. The Sorcerer Lands were to the far north, and the lands of The Empress were in the depths of Southern Ithania. There really was no way to cross that distance easily.

"Hopefully that will be the only incredibly long part of your journey." Once again, The Artist picked the plan up as her brother became distracted. "We have arranged for Mir- The Healer to meet you in Glymma and take you to Si to meet The Bird last. Hopefully I won't be hearing of your death or hers just before we mobilize." Not likely, if we were matched in power, I thought.

"I'm going to ignore that particular visit until I arrive, I think," I pointed out, doing my best to be tactful.

"Very good." The Trader rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Well, we have to get going as soon as possible, since we only have a few weeks to catch up with The Seafarer in Nor."

"We all agreed that we would keep this moving at a moderate pace," The Artist pointed out patiently. "I need to take his measurements for the armour before you run off for another year."

"Fiiine." The Trader sighed and pouted like a child.

For the next half hour, I watched as some of The Artist's colleagues raced around me with measuring instruments, taking measurements down to the most specific details, like the angle between my hips and underarm. Meanwhile, The Trader and The Artist bickered lightly about small issues. There didn't seem to be any actual disagreement between them, but their extremely different views of the most trivial issues were slightly disconcerting.

As the last of the servants scuttled out with sheets and sheets of my every measurement, the two immortals started on goodbyes. "Be safe. Keep well." All of those common goodbyes passed by.

Then, The Artist mentioned something that brought my head up from where it had been slowly sliding down the back of my chair. "Don't sleep with too many young girls," she said firmly.

The Trader grinned slyly. "How am I supposed to know how many is too many?" he asked, as if he was totally innocent.

"When I start yelling at you while we link," The Artist retorted. So that was how they always moved in concert all across Ithania. Dream links.

"You do that after the first girl visits me."

"Because I know it's the first of the thirty or so you'll be bedding over the course of a year."

"Now that's a bit extreme," The Trader was looking surprised. "You know it's more like fifteen."

"The point still stands. You're going to get yourself sick." Apparently this was a real argument that the two of them had been having for the last few centuries, and part of me told me not to interfere. However, my brain was fast approaching a point of severe exhaustion, despite my magic's best efforts, and the lack of logic that comes with tiredness overruled my sensible side.

"Are we going to leave soon?" I asked, and then I blushed. I hadn't intended to sound so much like a whining child.

The Trader burst out laughing at my voice, and The Artist smiled. "We do tend to argue a bit much," she told me. "We don't realize how much we hold up the conversation, so I apologize.

"Remember, all of us are going to be in contact throughout the year," The Artist continued. "You'll hear of any major change in our plans from whichever immortal you are staying with at any time. I have also had The Healer contact your superiors in Jarime with news of your impending journey."

I was quiet at this. I had not thought of returning to Jarime like I was supposed to yet, and I supposed that that was due to the sheer excitement of the journey ahead. From what I knew of the leaders back home, they would probably allow me to travel as long as it provided the Circlian religion with more power in the Council, but I couldn't be sure. There were always pesky naysayers in the ruling body, and I had always tried not to bend such powerful people to my will. Of course, I would deal with them however necessary as long as I could travel for the year.

I stayed quiet as The Trader led me out a side door of the Seat, and we entered a waiting platten. Once we left the city we were joined by a group of tarns driven by some men who were apparently The Trader's colleagues. I was quick in noticing that each one of the other tradespeople was travelling with a younger woman, probably a daughter or niece. Apparently, The Trader was just as promiscuous as his sister said, maybe even a match for the White's weakest member, Mairae.

I kept my thoughts to myself for at least another hour before The Trader apparently satisfied himself that everyone else was running smoothly and turned to me. As he told me later, I snored in his face.

* * *

When I woke up, I was in a tent on the morning of the next day. Even arems need rest, though I didn't see why we hadn't just slept in the tarn. Wait, yes I did. The Trader probably preferred his 'privacy.' Worried about what I would see outside, I pulled out my extra circ and cleaned the one I had accidentally slept in.

"You sleep like a hibernating roale," was how The Trader greeted me as I stepped outside. "I wasn't certain I would be able to sleep myself with you snoring in the next tent over."

"For an Immortal charged with protecting Ithania, you're surprisingly rude," I muttered. The Trader smirked, which was not quite the response I had been hoping for.

I'd woken up earlier than usual, so I was told by The Trader to help pack up the elaborate tents before we got going. With my adult life having previously been dedicated almost entirely to learning about the gods, it was a steep learning curve for me to have to pack up all those tent poles. But The Trader insisted that a minimum of servants travel with his caravan, so his regular travellers – all merchants – were entirely self-sufficient.

After what I considered an entirely unnecessary exercise in physical labour – the tents had spells woven into the fabric to prevent magical use upon them – we were underway again. Almost immediately, The Trader handed the reins of his arem to his assistant, a thin man named Han, and beckoned me into the back of the tarn, where he had a circular space cleared among all of the artistic pieces he had collected in The City of Artisans for selling to the most affluent members of Ithanian high society.

"Of the living Immortals, my power is the closest to yours," he began, diving right into conversation as usual. "My sister and I can work together to know and understand mortals and how they will react under certain conditions. This is how we earned our reputations long ago.

"Your abilities are more personal. You can instinctively use magic to make people think the way you do. While I can only know what humans will do, you can _change_ what they will do." I knew that already, so why was I getting this speech?

"As my sister pointed out yesterday, we think that you can also learn to understand how people think at a glance. This would let you convince them of your opinions without magic, which I know is one of your goals." Obviously. Who really wants to be entirely dependant on brainwashing people to get everything?

"How does that prove I am a match for the Immortals?" All I had heard so far was that I was especially talented compared to normal people. That was exactly what the Circlian priests all were.

"There is one test we can do," The Trader said, his eyes glinting. "One trait that all seven of us share is an unprecedented ability to draw on the magic around us. We can store and use much more magic than we would ever need. We try to avoid wasting magic like that, but I'd like you do draw as much magic as you can. If you need to let some of it loose, convert it into light."

Simple enough. I swept my brain clear of extraneous thoughts and concentrated on the magic around me. The Trader probably felt my senses expand to seek magic, because he looked puzzled. As I opened myself to the power in the air, something in my brain clicked, and it all rushed at me.

I sucked it all in as fast as I could, glad of the movement of the tarn to bring fresh magical territory into the range of my senses. As I neared what was my usual threshold, I didn't slow down my drawing and continued to let the magic to flood into the place between my eyes where I stored it. Just as I felt like I would burst with all the power in my body, something shredded deep in my mind and the magic kept flowing in, a huge amount. Like The Trader said, it was more than I could ever use. Unable to see a clear limit to my new powers of storage, I stopped absorbing the energy and let it flow out of me in a stream of light.

The Trader was staring at me. "That was … unusual," he said quietly.

"How?" I was exhilarated by my abilities, unable to keep a straight face, so I grinned like a fool.

"Does every Circlian have to search for the magic in the area before using it like that?" Apparently, what was instinctive to us was unusual for him.

"Of course."

"It's a liability. If you take too long to start blasting your foe, they'll just run you through with a sword." What a wonderful thought.

"When I was young, using magic was something we learned until it was as automatic as breathing. I can see I'll have to train you to do that as well, now."

"But you couldn't spellweave like we can now back in your youth," I commented snidely. Put it down to stress, but I still wasn't ready to defer to the immortal.

The Trader laughed. "No, but that strategy would never have been discovered without The Sorceress." I had to give him that point.

* * *

The weeks of the journey to Nor passed in a blur of training. The Trader was a surprisingly driven teacher for having seemed so cavalier at the Council. He also had endless patience whenever I took hours to understand something he explained, which happened often, sadly enough. I suppose when you have endless time on your hands, patience is taken for granted.

As I said before, my learning at the White Tower had been limited to godly rituals and history. The magic lessons were few, and always only basic defenses and some survival spells. I also had, to my detriment, a certain talent for leaving my lessons without receiving any punishment. My poor teachers probably got blasted with so much magic that they couldn't think for themselves anymore.

The Trader determinedly showed me how to continuously sense the magic surrounding me, and pull it in at will. Once I had that down – it only took four days – he began teaching me how to use my talent. Despite his continued insistence that my 'immortal skill' was something for me to perfect myself, I learned a lot from The Trader during our journey.

I also discovered that my talent, when I used it properly, was a lot more personal than the predictions The Trader was always throwing about to help me.

On one of the last days before our arrival in Nor, for example, The Trader pointed out a ragged little man standing on the side of the road as we packed up to leave. "That man is going to try and steal from us in a few minutes," he said, nonchalant. I could immediately tell that this was another lesson for my powers. The Trader was always pointing out the future actions of people around the caravan, slowly moving up from the most predictable actions to more complex works of motivation and reaction.

I focussed on the man, and my power unleashed the barest tendril of magic to stroke past his mind. I saw his sad little life, living on a failing farm with no food for his family, and how all the nobility processed past each year with not a care in the world for him or his dying children. This year, he had decided that he deserved a share of the wealth paraded by his property year after year. He was still agonizing over the decision, however, and I saw in full the images of starving children and the past year's failed crops. Without help, he and his family would almost certainly die.

The Trader eyed me quietly. "Can you see why he's going to steal?" I asked him.

"No. I only judged it from the way he's standing there waiting by our food stores with little tendrils of audacity and caution humming around his head. When they get ready to pack away all their equipment, he'll just sidle up and take some of our rations."

"Which there are more than enough of."

The man shrugged. "Do as you like, but do it fast. If he threatens anyone, I have every right to let my guards kill him." A common enough practice among the rich who were not vowed to any religion, and many who were. I had never heard it referenced so cavalierly, though.

I rose from my position in The Trader's tarn and hurried over to the food tarn. I haggled a bit with some of the staff, and in the end they got a few coins off of me, but I retrieved more than enough food for some time for the man. I trotted over to him after packaging it all in a large sack.

"Here," I told him, tossing it off my shoulder and handing it to him. "The charity of the Circle from the gods to you." The man gaped at me; without him even asking, I had out and out given him several weeks' worth of food.

"I wish you luck," I told him, and made the sign of the circle to him.

With a shaky bow, the man ran off to his home.

When I arrived back in the tarn, The Trader laughed a bit. "Very kind of you," he guffawed. "The only Circlian in my convoy, and apparently the only compassionate person as well. I'd say you have a family of converts."

"Some I know would say that, yes." To be perfectly honest, the speech about the gods was just part of the general formality of the priests. I knew no other way to give gifts to strangers, really.

The Trader laughed again. "Don't worry, I know you wouldn't try to undermine us." He shook his head at me. "Oh no, you're too kind for that. And far too interested in our power."

"Has anyone ever told you," I huffed, "that you know too much? It's difficult to talk to someone who has the power to know you better than you know yourself."

The Trader suddenly looked pensive, maybe even a bit hurt. "Rulers in several countries once tried to kill my sister and I for the same reason," he said quietly. "The only beings who could hide their minds from us at our height were the gods, and we could guess what they were doing by the process of elimination.

"Knowing what everyone around us was doing all the time is not the gift you would expect it to be, Corin. How could we socialize with a great king when we deduced from his impatience and secretive manner that he was about to go out to a brothel? Well, my sister could do it, but I've never had that kind of tact," he admitted, entirely without shame. "We couldn't even hide our minds from each other; from the time we first found our power until only recently. They became so enmeshed that we may as well have been one very schizophrenic person." I wondered at what The Trader meant by 'recently,' since a life of thousands of years lent him a very unique view of the world.

I could tell that The Trader was on a roll now, so I let him talk and sat quietly. In my whole time with the man, The Trader had never revealed anything about his past until now. He was always gregarious and cheerful, but he very specifically never talked about anything outside of the last couple of years. "My sister became accustomed to that after some centuries, but the reliance eventually began to irk me. We couldn't think separately sometimes; we just argued continually, as you saw in the Seat. Our only escape was telling the future for some other person, because we would always eventually agree on something for once. We always cared for each other, but being bound to another person so tightly you can never be away from them becomes very dull.

"Then the gods, beings who we had told the future for on occasion, turned on us en masse and ordered their followers to kill us on sight. By the time we realized that this was one of the terms the gods had agreed to follow in their war, it was too late for us to seek safety anywhere in society."

"Wait, what?" The Trader jumped and turned to me like he had forgotten I was there. "The Gods agreed to terms in their war? According to the scrolls in the White Tower-"

The Trader interrupted me with a tired tone. "Yes, I've seen that history. The Circle told Juran that the other gods had gone mad and wanted to kill the humans. All I can tell you is that they lied." Why would they lie to their humans?

"You're wrong." I pouted for a moment. "I can't believe I believed you for a moment. The Circle is benevolent; they would never do anything like that."

The Trader closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "Then why did they order you into a battle with the Pentadrians? Thousands of loyal followers to both religions lost their lives during that war, and the gods had told you they were on your side." He spoke to me softly, placatingly, in a sweet tone that made me want to stop arguing and listen to him. I, of course, wasn't ready to back down.

"The Circlians won that battle, though."

"Aur- The Bird won that battle, and only because of her status as an Immortal."

"How? Drifting over her foe would hardly help the traitor against those Southern beasts." Immediately, I knew I'd misspoken. There was hardly anything I could do about how I was raised, though.

The Trader blinked. "Don't let The Empress hear you talk like that. I've watched her vapourize Circlians for less. If you weren't such a hinge for us, your mind would no longer be the same safe place, either. Under other circumstances, I would have reached through your mind and eviscerated your happiest memories in my sleep tonight."

Ignoring the rather terrifying mental image The Trader provided me with, I focussed on the training I had received and looked to read his mood. Cold, calculated, and almost alien rage flew into my mind from him, burning me on its way.

"Foolish, trying to understand someone so many hundreds of times older than you," The Trader hissed dispassionately as I gasped and keeled over at his feet. "You'd do well to remember that an Immortal of my age and experience is hardly human anymore. I will talk to you when we arrive in Nor." And just like that, he closed himself entirely from me, like he'd never talked to me as an equal at all. It made the rest of the journey very uncomfortable. Eventually, I moved myself into a separate tarn entirely and ignored the man's anger.

* * *

_I LIIIIIVE! Well, I've been working on this the whole time, alongside other projects and many, many distractions. But the chapter's up now, and that's all that matters, right? Right?_

_Rereading Voice of the Gods, I realized that Surim must have had a very good reason for splitting himself from Tamun, and so we have a reason._

_Any reviews, even one's raging at me for the long wait, are greatly appreciated and I will try to respond to any relevant, non-spoilerific questions in a timely manner._


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